NOVEL NEXT Chapter 225: The Club Manager
Xavier wiped the blood off his knuckles with a napkin he grabbed from the bar, totally unbothered, and turned toward the top manager with that smug half-smile tugging at his lips.
"Yeah, I'll explain," he said, voice smooth, not a hint of guilt in it. "I was sitting here, drinking, minding my own business. One of these lizards bumps into me. Twice. The first time I let it slide. The second time, I give him a tap back. Call it even. But instead of walking off, they came at me with a dozen fists. What was I supposed to do? Sit here and let them chew my face off?"
He gestured around at the wreckage. "All this? Their doing. I'm just one guy. They're a squad of overgrown geckos. Do the math."
The lizards hissed, clutching their bruised faces, but before they could shout back, two bouncers stepped in. "He's telling the truth," one said firmly. "The second wave, they rushed him. He only defended himself."
Even the floor manager, still shaking from the mess, nodded. "I tried to stop it. They didn't listen. They escalated it."
The top manager's golden eyes narrowed, shifting between the beaten lizards and Xavier, who stood there relaxed, like a man who had just finished a workout, not a brawl. He didn't rush his judgment—he walked the floor slowly, studying the damage: shattered neon pillars, broken furniture, burn marks from energy blades. He crouched by one unconscious alien, tapped him with his shoe, then looked back up at Xavier.
Above, laughter drifted from the balcony. A cluster of figures in tailored suits, silk robes, and alien garb leaned over the railing. Some were smoking, some sipping fine drinks, all entertained as if watching a gladiator pit.
"Look at that human," one drawled, swirling his glass. "Cocky bastard wrecked half the club and still talks like he owns it."
"Not many could put down a full Zarrak brood without backup," another added, intrigued. "He's either stupid or dangerous. I like dangerous."
The top manager finally straightened, his presence alone enough to silence the whispers below. His eyes lingered on Xavier. He wasn't amused, but neither did he look angry. He looked… interested.
"Quite the performance," he said slowly. "But this isn't just about fists and broken tables. This is my floor, and you've turned it into rubble."
The balcony crowd chuckled again, waiting for the verdict, as if this was their late-night entertainment.
The lizards stammered, "This is racism and discrimination! You are siding with this human because you are a human! We didn't do anything like that—"
But Xavier didn't even bother to look ruffled. He leaned back against the wrecked bar counter, arms loose at his sides, that lazy grin tugging at his mouth. "Oh, please. The first time you bumped into me, I let it slide. Second time? That wasn't an accident. And don't give me that bullshit—look how far the counter is from the dance floor. You telling me you just happened to stumble all the way here twice?"
The lizards hissed and snapped their jaws in protest, but Xavier just waved them off. "And while we're at it, I noticed something. You weren't just bumping into me. You've been targeting everyone who looked like they were alone, or had a girl with them. Stirring trouble. Prodding. Setting the stage." He shrugged, acting bored. "So I did you a favor. Instead of waiting for your little plan to unfold, I skipped the prelude and gave you the fight you wanted." He pointed at their bruised, bloodied faces. "Now you're whining because you lost."
The crowd murmured. Then a voice broke through.
"He's right!" shouted a drunk man with his arm around a woman. "These bastards slammed into me twice near the VIP booths!"
"Same here," another guy called, clutching his elbow. "They shoved me when I went to get drinks."
Voices began to pile on, scattered at first but then louder, angrier, until the whole floor echoed with accusations. People from the crowd started pointing fingers at the lizards, recounting how they'd been shoved, tripped, elbowed—each story weaving into Xavier's narrative.
The lizards panicked, scales twitching, tails thrashing against the floor. "Lies! All lies! He's manipulating you!"
Xavier tilted his head, eyes gleaming under the club lights. "Funny how I'm the only one you claim is lying… while half the damn floor is saying the same thing." He let the silence stretch before chuckling low. "Guess it's not me who's full of shit."
The floor manager, who'd been sweating bullets trying to calm the mess, now looked at the lizards like he'd just realized he might've been backing the wrong side. The bouncers exchanged uncertain looks, their earlier stance wavering.
And up on the balcony, the big shots leaned over the rail, amusement in their eyes. To them, this wasn't chaos. This was a theater. Watching Xavier twist the entire situation, turning a dozen lizards into cornered rats, was better entertainment than anything the Galaxy Club could put on stage.
The club manager finally raised his hand, his voice carrying over the muttering crowd. "Enough." His tone was sharp, the kind that made even the most reckless shut their mouths.
He glanced at the lizards, still spitting excuses, still thrashing their tails, but their words had already lost weight. The whispers, the pointing fingers, the visible bruises and spilled drinks around the floor—everything was evidence against them.
"You and your associates," the manager said coldly, pointing straight at the group. "Out. Now. And don't bother trying to come back here again. Galaxy Club doesn't tolerate rats stirring trouble under its roof."
The lizards exploded in protests, but the bouncers didn't wait for more words. They descended on the scaly bunch like a wall of muscle, dragging them out by their arms and tails as the crowd jeered.
The manager then turned, his gaze shifting from the wrecked bar to Angel slumped half-asleep against a table, hair spilling like silk over her shoulders. He exhaled slowly before fixing his eyes on Xavier. For the first time, his face softened.
"Now, what shall we do with you?"